


Weakness (Or, everyone is damaged)

by TheAceOfSpades



Series: Outside the mirror [2]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: 5+1 Things, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Death, does anyone read these?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26235874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceOfSpades/pseuds/TheAceOfSpades
Summary: 5 Ipliers and 1 Septic ego, and a look at their personal weaknesses.
Series: Outside the mirror [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704175
Kudos: 27





	1. Darkiplier - Pain

It wasn’t a good day for Dark. Even as he woke up, he could tell it wasn’t going to be a good day.

There is a certain amount of pain that comes from forcing a broken body to move, causing bones to stay together and preventing the flesh from decaying and - just like any injury - some days were worse than others.

Today was one of those days.

Even as he gently pushed himself out of bed, Dark could feel his legs twinging as he forces the torn ligaments and shattered bones to support his weight. Summoning his cane, he used it to push himself upright. 

Leaning heavily on it, he pulled open the void and reappeared at the head of the dining table, head upright, impeccable as always. Leaning back in his chair, he cracked his neck as the other egos began flooding in. He ignored all attempt at conversation aimed towards him, focusing on eating as quickly as possible to get out. Finally, after what felt like hours, he finished and stood, ignoring the screaming his battered body. He grabbed his dish and strode out to the kitchen to place it on the draining board.   
He got no further than the door before his legs fully gave out, cane toppling from his limp grasp and plate crashing onto the floor as he toppled forward.

The first thing he noticed as he re-awakened was the smell of antiseptic. He lifted his head, noticing the fact that his body was no longer aching and screaming at him like it had been just this morning, to see Dr. Iplier bustling around the hospital wing. As Dr. Iplier noticed that his patient was awake, he rushed over, loose sheets of paper falling from his clipboard.

“Dark, thank god.”

“What happened, Dr. Iplier?” Dark asked.

“You just collapsed. The Host narrated you up here as we couldn’t carry you without making your bones worse, but I did manage to find a way to numb the pain!”

“How? Painkillers don’t work - and I’ve tried.”

“They do, your heart just can’t pump it around the body. Well, your heart can’t pump anything around the body, really, seeing as your body is, well, dead. But there are machines that can do that for you, so I just sorted out a temporary one of them and then injected the painkillers!” the doctor handed over a small device that looked like a pager. “You just hook that up to your fingers, turn it on and it pumps blood for you!”

Dark was lost for words. “Thank… Thank you, Dr Iplier. This is…”

“Don’t mention it.” Dr Iplier interrupted.


	2. Wilford Warfstache - Guilt

Wilford was stood, facing his bathroom mirror. He watched the pink, psychedelic reflections of his aura swirl round and round in his pupils, eyes tearing as the colour became steadily darker and darker until it was no longer his signature bright bubblegum pink but a deep, blood red. 

He wiped away a stray tear that was making it’s way down his cheek. He didn’t deserve to cry, not after what he did. But they wouldn’t stop coming. A tear for each person over the years and then some, until he was nothing more than a blubbering mess curled up on the floor. 

So many people. Stabbed, shot, killed. He could see in his minds eye as the deep crimson spread out underneath each one of his multitude of victims, and he was helpless to protest as each one blamed him. 

He could hear their ringing voices chasing him to the corner he found himself in, sat upright yet hunched over, unable to stop the tears cascading down his cheeks. 

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that soon he would leave this lucid state and easily forget each of his many victims. He would forget, go back to thinking that death was just a game, go back to the insanity. Because he needed to believe that it was all a game, believe that people could just come back.

But until then, Wilford would just sit there in his bathroom, remembering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one today, sorry!


	3. The Host - Memories

The original Author wasn’t a good person. The Host knew that.

It wasn’t that he set out to be a bad person, just… he was drawn to violence like a moth to a flame. Most people that wondered into the woodlands voluntarily came out different, scarred. It wasn’t the Author’s fault, the Host knew that much. It was just what he did.

The Host still felt like it could have been different.

The Author never set out to hurt, to kill people, yet that’s what ended up happening anyway. It probably didn’t help that he was a psychopath with a moral compass that was closer to a roulette wheel.

But the Host looks back on his time as the Author bitter-sweet.

It was nice, he supposed, being able to do what he liked when he liked, with nothing to worry about. Not like now, where he he runs into walls when not paying attention and coffee tables when he is. Now, he just feels like a song-bird in a gilded cage.

But being the Author wasn’t all he made it sound cracked up to be.

Just like any mortal author, he suffered writers block every now and again. He felt the words trapped inside him, hands trembling as he tried to force himself to write but couldn’t. Some days it was so painful that all he could do was lay in bed, begging for the pain to go away. Other days, the completion to write would seize him so strongly that he would sit at his desk for days, scribbling his words and guiding his characters through their adventures until the exhaustion caught up to him and he flopped face-first onto his desk.

Then there were the darker parts.

When a character went of-script, he never dealt with it well. It often ended up with the character unable to fulfil their role and the story being scrapped, person returning home beaten and injured, terrified. 

The Host knows the Author didn’t try to be a bad person.

He just couldn’t help it.


	4. King of the Squirrels - Grief

He knew it was coming.

The King of the Squirrels had noticed his long-time companion, Hazelnut, had become more sluggish over the past few months, preferring to reside on his shoulders on on his head instead of scampering along side him like she would normally do. But he had been ignoring it, praying that if he did not acknowledge it, it would just go away.

But for all the time King had spent preparing for this day, he was still unready when it came. Hazelnut was King’s friend, the one he cared about the most, more than any of his other subjects, but now she was taken from him and he just couldn’t-

His unsteady breathing the only thing he could hear in the strangely silent forest, he stumbled toward his friend. She lay curled up on the floor, peaceful even in death.

Kneeling on the forest floor, King picked up Hazelnuts broken body, wrapping it in the fold of his cape. He stood, wiping a stray tear away from his eye, and started into the woods, heading to a small clearing nearby where he would bury her. She deserved the honour, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter.  
> I feel so bad for King! And I chose to write this? Who authorised my emotions?


	5. The Jim Twins - Injury

“Come Jim, we must discover the secrets of the forest!” Reporter Jim shouted over his shoulder at his twin brother. Cameraman Jim, silent as a ghost, smiled at his brother, content to chase along as RJ ran deeper and deeper into the woods.

The pair stopped as they reached a tall tree. Its large branches were low enough to easily take hold of, and RJ hoisted himself up. He paused on the lowest branch, squatting down.

“Jim, I will climb the tree to try and find a good vantage point.”

RJ waited for CJ to give him a thumbs up before venturing up the tree, pausing here and there to shout down a few quips. It was at one of these points when the disaster happened. As RJ stood on a branch, he felt it slowly start to creak and bend beneath his weight. He looked down, noticing that the branch was cracking almost too late, and he umped as the branch fully snapped off the tree, tumbling down. grabbing onto the branch above him and swinging until he managed to find a purchase for his feet, he shouted down “That was a close one Jim!”

Receiving no reply, he called “Jim?”. RJ squatted down, peering over the edge of the branch, but couldn’t see anything. “JIM?” he called a third time, panic lacing his voice. “ANSWER ME JIM!”

Yet again receiving no answer, he jumped from branch to branch, descending speedily with no regard for his own safety. RJ reached the ground and sped round the tree, recoiling at the metallic smell gracing his lips before catching sight of the fallen tree branch - and his brother underneath. “JIM!” RJ screamed, rushing towards his fallen brother, pulling the heavy branch off his body. Scooping CJ into his arms, RJ took off back in the direction of the Manor, tearing through the woodland at such a pace that a cheetah would be put to shame.

Finally he made it back and was met at the door by Dr Schneeplestein. “Dr. Iplier saw you tearing across ze grass, Jim.” He said in way of a greeting. “Hurry, he is preparing a bed for your brudder now.” The two took off across the foyer and down the first hall, bursting into the infirmary with a waiting Dr. Iplier. The doctor immediately took CJ from RJ’s arms an whisked him to the waiting bed. RJ instantly took the seat beside him, grabbing hold of his brother’s hand and refusing to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It leaves off open-endedly, so I'm just going to state here that CJ did NOT die, because I don't think i could live with myself if i killed off either of the Jims.


	6. Antisepticeye - Panic

Anti was never scared. Never.

He just had… a healthy amount of caution in some respects.

Of course, that didn’t make getting lost in the data-streams any less frightening.

It happened every now and again, when Anti would possess a device absent-mindedly. He would get stuck, trapped in the firewall or the streams of data rushing past like a surfer in a riptide - he just couldn’t figure out how to get out. Normally it was pretty easy to bypass the firewall and get to a safe space, but this time? No, he was completely stuck, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to get out.

‘That’s what comes of trying to hack the Googles’, he thought to himself.

He began digging through the data that was imprisoning his arms and legs like cuffs, pulling at them gently, testing how wrong they were. Occasionally sending small data pings through them, attempting to make them release their hold on him, his tugging gradually became more and more frantic as he realised that they weren’t letting go anytime soon. God, what he wouldn’t give right now to be back in the Septiceye cabin in Jack’s mindscapse, surrounded by electronics he knew how to control and didn’t run the risk of GETTING STUCK IN-

No. Anti took a deep, though unneeded, breath. Panicking wouldn’t help. That would just cause even more problems. Ramming his shoulder into Google’s firewall, trying to break through wouldn’t do anything, so why keep trying? Maybe when Google shuts off next, Anti would have an easier time trying to get out.

With a sigh, he leaned back, accepting of his fate. He was well and truly stuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!  
> Another short one, but...  
> This one leads into one that I am posting on the 1st of October, so keep an eye out for that!


End file.
